Should any Time Lord -- not from the Barge -- come upon this, I am Lord High President Rassilon and you are more than welcome to contact me.
Also, I do think we should add more Gallifreyan food to the meals. Or pasta. And not just for this Thanksgiving. What would you say to lasagne once a week?
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I don't even know where here is-at least, where here is for you.
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[As a warden he'd know and as an inmate he probably wouldn't have a TARDIS -- fortunately. Especially if he's at a point after the Divergent universe.]
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The dead president of a dead world, ruling over a kingdom of ash.
Oh, I am privileged that you permit me to address your excellency. [All the sarcasm and vitriol.]
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But there's no point in gloating. Gallifrey will be back, as will I. I never lose the final battle.
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Such an optimist, Rassilon. One would think that you'd have learned by now that the universe always wins in the end. Entropy. Destruction. Death. Sooner or later, no matter how you strive to delay the inevitable, everything crumbles to dust. Even Gallifreyans. Even your wife. Even you.
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And I've made quite the habit of winning in the end over the past billion years. And would think that someone like you would now that I had divorced my ex-wife long before her death. My current lover, however... has a tendency to survive everything. So I doubt I'll need to worry any time soon.
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